


asking nicely

by ratcrimes



Series: asking nicely [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Blood, Future Fic, Hate Sex, M/M, Mild Painplay, Oral Sex, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23708329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratcrimes/pseuds/ratcrimes
Summary: Matthew didn’t hate Draisaitl. Not the way Draisaitl hated him. Didn’t mean that he was going to let Draisaitl win.
Relationships: Leon Draisaitl/Matthew Tkachuk
Series: asking nicely [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743835
Comments: 23
Kudos: 224
Collections: The Sin Bin: A Hockey RPF Kink Meme





	asking nicely

**Author's Note:**

> cw: while everyone has a good time here, there isn't a huge emphasis placed on informed consent, particularly in the first encounter.
> 
> i left a prompt on the sin bin for one-sided hate sex with these two and then immediately had an idea to fill it. that said: someone else please write more for these guys, holy shit. this isn't even my _conference_ but there's so little fic i had to write stuff myself.
> 
> obviously this is based off public info about real people, i make no claims to know about them or their personal lives. if you do and you're reading this then...you have an ao3 account so you probably know what you're doing and i cannot stop you. i hope you like angry blowjobs.

Matthew hadn’t expected much out of his second All-Star Game. He expected to do alright at the accuracy competition, and he did: landed a little closer to the top than the middle, not too shabby. He didn’t expect shit from the games, and the Pacific team won their first game but lost in the final. That was alright, Matthew had been tipsy at best since he landed in Boston and so was the rest of the team, they didn’t really give a shit.

He also figured Draisaitl would be a giant asshole again, which he was.

They never got caught by the same reporter—Matthew spotted Draisaitl doing a U-turn behind a reporter’s back, actually, while he was giving an interview—but Matthew heard the soundbite anyway. Johnny pulled it up on his phone an hour after it went live.

“Last year you said if you were put on a line with Matthew Tkachuk you would get off the ice. Has that changed at all?”

“_He _hasn’t, so no. I’d still leave.”

Matthew had gotten that message already from the many evil eyes across the locker room, and just—fuck that guy. Kassian had kicked someone in the chest with his skate, and Draisaitl seemed as buddy-buddy with him as ever. Matthew rolled his eyes at the clip and told Johnny, “His loss. I’m a fucking great liney.”

Usually Matthew didn’t care if people didn’t like him. He knew what he was doing, knew not everyone could leave it on the ice. And, yeah, he’d made some stupid shitty hits, gotten a couple suspensions he probably deserved, avoided a couple more suspensions he probably deserved—Matthew couldn’t blame people for taking offense to that. He just didn’t give a fuck. His team liked him, and Brady, and he’d never done anything on the ice he actually felt guilty for.

Honestly he felt like more players should loosen up. Try out a comeback besides “fuck off” or “fuck you” for once. It was fun as hell.

Point was, Matthew was used to living rent-free in people’s heads. But he didn’t usually have to play on a team with those people. Or, as it happened, go on a club crawl with them.

Most of the ASG went out after the game—he heard a lot of people saying it was at least in fucking _Boston _and not St. Louis, which, whatever, St. Louis was fine if you cared about shit besides your Instagram—and Matthew just picked the same group Johnny got dragged along with.

They were on the third club by the time Matthew noticed Draisaitl. Matthew was heading to the bar, legs aching in the best way and head spinning with whateverthefuck was in the shots Oshie kept passing out like the World’s Drunkest Santa; Draisaitl was bopping along at the edge of the dance floor, dorky and almost cute with a drink in his hand. Like he had a personality besides the grumpy-bear setting Matthew always got. There was a chirp in the making, Matthew though, and then, no one should be able to make those moves look _that _good, but there was Draisaitl with his hockey ass and V-neck shirt and fucking lantern jaw, doing just that.

Then Draisaitl stopped moving, and when Matthew’s eyes made their way back up to his face Draisaitl was looking at him, all the softness gone, back to grumpy bear again. Matthew jerked his chin up at him and turned away.

They’d gotten through three clubs without seeing each other. Easy enough to just…keep avoiding.

One thing Matthew didn’t expect out of his second All-Star Game was Leon Draisaitl following him into a club bathroom.

It was in the fourth club, almost an hour later, and at first Matthew didn’t realize that was what had happened—just his fuckin’ luck, he figured, that they’d end up alone. Matthew glanced up at Draisaitl in the mirror as he walked in and then looked back down at his hands in the sink, turned off the tap. So he didn’t see it coming when Draisaitl grabbed Matthew’s hip, spun him around, and kissed the shit out of him.

And Matthew—over the _what the fuck _sirens in his head, Matthew kissed back, no hesitation.

Draisaitl’s mouth was hard and sour with whatever he’d been drinking, and his beard scraped Matthew’s skin raw. He grabbed on hard to Matthew’s hips and leaned his whole weight down, like he was trying to break Matthew in half over the counter, radiating heat all down Matthew’s chest. The sharp edge of the counter dug into Matthew’s back above the waistband of his jeans.

He hadn’t expected this, but he knew what it _was. _Knew what Draisaitl was trying to prove.

Matthew didn’t hate Draisaitl. Not the way Draisaitl hated him. Didn’t mean that he was going to let Draisaitl win.

Matthew curled his hand around the back of Draisaitl’s head. His hair was too short to really pull on but between his grip there and a hand on Draisaitl’s chest he managed to push up, tried to body Draisaitl away from the counter. He resisted for a second—Matthew kept pushing—Draisaitl relaxed, all at once. Like he was giving permission instead of risking being overpowered. They both slammed into the door. Matthew’s knuckles took the worst of it, smashed between the door and Draisaitl’s thick skull, and he bit down hard onto Draisaitl’s lip.

“_Fuck,_” Draisaitl spat, voice breaking, and Matthew pulled back.

In the fluorescent bathroom lights it was easy to see how dark Draisaitl’s eyes were, the flush on his cheeks—alcohol and beard burn from Matthew both—the copper welling up on his lip. Sweat glistened against his skin and there were damp boozy patches on his T-shirt. Matthew could feel Draisaitl was half-hard, his dick was pressing up against Matthew’s thigh, but he could look down and see it tenting the front of his jeans too.

When his eyes flicked back up to Draisaitl’s he looked—not just pissed. Awkward, maybe. Like he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, hadn’t thought this through.

Well. Fucking good.

There was blood running down Draisaitl’s chin, and when Matthew kissed him again he tasted it along with the liquor. Draisaitl surged up, grinding his dick against Matthew’s hip, and Matthew couldn’t help but do the same and whine into Draisaitl’s mouth. He broke off, pressed his lips along Draisaitl’s chin, his jaw.

“What is this?” Matthew asked, like he didn’t know, and slipped two fingers into Draisaitl’s waistband. Just enough to touch the warm soft skin of his stomach.

Draisaitl let go of one bruised hip and grabbed Matthew’s wrist—not pulling it away, dragging it over to the button of his jeans. Matthew’s knuckles skimmed across his treasure trail. “The fuck do you—” Matthew thumbed against the button and then lower, cupping Draisaitl through his jeans, and got a sharp breath for his efforts. “The fuck do you _think _it is. Fucking moron.”

Matthew dug his teeth into Draisaitl’s neck, tasted salt and skin and something acrid that might’ve been cologne. “You want me to suck you off?”

He ran a finger down Draisaitl’s zipper but it was Draisaitl who huffed in frustration and undid his own damn pants. Matthew dropped his forehead down to Draisaitl’s shoulder to watch as Draisaitl yanked his pants open, shoved the elastic of his boxers down. His cock sprung out, grazing against the front of Matthew’s jeans before smacking against Draisaitl’s shirt. Matthew reached down, closed his fist around the shaft, and Draisaitl made a small relieved noise.

“If you don’t fucking _mind,_” Draisaitl said.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Matthew jacked Draisaitl once, down just enough to see the pretty pink head appear from under his foreskin and then back up. He pushed his mouth right against Draisaitl’s neck, so he could nearly taste him while he talked. “Get me on my knees. Stuff your cock in my mouth so I can’t talk. You been thinking about that all night?”

His dick twitched in Matthew’s hand. Matthew ran his thumb over the head, found a bead of precum there and smeared it. Draisaitl’s breath was hot on Matthew’s ear. “Gonna keep talking or are you going to fucking do something?”

“Mmm.” Matthew leaned back just a little. Draisaitl looked _wrecked, _his hair ruffled and his head leaned back against the door, blood drying on his mouth and in his beard. He couldn’t quite seem to close it; he was panting, a little, not even really scowling anymore. _Matthew _had done that. Matthew’s own lips felt tacky, and when he licked them he tasted iron and salt. He was hard, his blood was pounding, and there was an angry burning coal in the pit of his stomach. He let go of Draisaitl’s cock and ignored the noise of protest as he licked his thumb. That was salty, too, and Draisaitl looked even more pissed off as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

He could do it. Get on his knees on the filthy tile. Keep Draisaitl there, a two-hundred-plus pound doorstop. Matthew already knew the hot pressure of his mouth, the soft weight of his dick in Matthew’s hand, how his cum tasted, a dozen new vulnerabilities.

Matthew didn’t hate Draisaitl, not really. But he didn’t have to give him what he wanted either.

He kissed Draisaitl’s cheek, wet and sloppy and obnoxious, and patted him on the hip with one hand while the other closed around the doorknob. “Next time try asking nicely.”

And he pulled the door open.

Draisaitl slid to the side, too startled to do anything else, and Matthew sidestepped him as he slipped out of the bathroom.

* * *

In the morning he thought he might’ve dreamed the whole thing, all of it swallowed in a hangover haze. Until he saw the bruises on his hips and down his knuckles.

He didn’t see Draisaitl again before he left.

* * *

Matthew wasn't expecting Draisaitl to try and fight when they played each other two weeks later, but it wasn't exactly a surprise either.

“The fuck did you do to 29?” Johnny asked, two minutes in while they were on the bench. Matthew’s shoulder was already smarting where Draisaitl had jammed him into the corner boards, and he knew there would be more to come.

For once—and he wanted some fucking credit for this, only Draisaitl sure as hell wouldn’t give it to him and telling other people would defeat the purpose—Matthew hadn’t said a fucking word. Not to anyone in the two weeks since the game, and not to Draisaitl since they'd started.

Still. If he was going to be gunning for Matthew anyway. “More what I didn’t do,” Matthew said around his mouth guard. Johnny shot him a look, but he got called out for a shift change before Matthew had to dodge any questions.

By halfway through the period it wasn’t just Johnny who was noticing. Gio pinned Draisaitl up against the boards a minute later, right after he tried for a breakaway down by Ritter. Matthew watched them mouth off at each other after the whistle blew until the zebras started stampeding.

It felt like about time for a fight.

Draisaitl had never been in one.

Matthew had looked, before the game.

At first intermission they were tied 2-2, sloppy, chippy goals on both sides. After pep talks were over Matthew looked up something on his phone, turned the volume down low and put the speaker up to his ear, muttered the words under his breath. A lot of effort for a chirp he might not even use, more than he usually put into them, but Matthew would worry about the implications of _that _later.

When the first TV break after second started, Matthew skated up until he was shoulder to shoulder with Draisaitl, watched him stiffen out of the corner of his eye. “When I said _ask nicely_—”

“Shut the fuck up.” He didn’t even look at Matthew, just stared across the ice where the refs were going over something on their tablet.

“You’re putting Kassian out of a job. Hitting me’s about the only thing he’s good at. Gonna kick me, too, while you’re out here?” Draisaitl’s scowl deepened. Matthew grinned.

“Fuck _off._”

“Real eloquent, buddy. That all the English you know?” Matthew nearly kept going but the refs blew the whistle, then, and he left it alone as they skated to the face-off circle. Maybe it was better this way, letting Draisaitl stew.

Two shifts later, Green flubbed a pass in the neutral zone and Matthew hauled _ass._ He sprinted up the ice, passed to Looch, tripped over an Oilers D-man and lunged to get his stick on Looch's pass back—

The goal horn sounded and the whistle blew as Looch and Backlund mobbed Matthew, sending him right into the boards, and Matthew grinned hard and mean to himself. The Oilers had rushed the goal after it was too late to do anything, so it was easy to skate right up to Draisaitl on their way back to the bench, mutter, “Bitte, lutsch meinen Schwanz,” under his breath.

Matthew was still laughing when Draisaitl lunged at him.

They didn’t manage to do anything but grab at each other’s jerseys before the refs pulled them apart and gave them two minutes each for roughing. Matthew chewed on this mouth guard the whole time, glancing over at Draisaitl every now and then. When he caught Draisaitl looking, he winked.

Draisaitl scored a minute before the end of third to tie the game again. “Will you _please _suck my cock, you fucking bitch,” he hissed in Matthew’s ear.

* * *

The thing was: Matthew wouldn’t have harped on this so much if he hadn’t still been thinking about it.

The other thing was: He’d made an offer, hadn’t he?

* * *

The Flames won in the 3-on-3, Monny sinking home the final shot. There had been a couple other rough scrums but no big brawl, so Matthew still got tapped for media. When they asked about the almost-fight he shrugged and kept his answers bland and fast as possible. Then he rushed through the showers.

The closer Matthew got to the visitor’s locker room the more sidelong looks he got, but no one actually told him he wasn’t allowed to visit. Still, plenty of the loitering staff and guests looked at Matthew like they either wanted him dead or feared for his life. It was a relief when Draisaitl came out of the locker room only a few minutes later, chatting to McDavid. For a moment before he noticed Matthew Draisaitl looked—not _happy _exactly but soft. There was that alleged personality again, around someone he actually liked.

Then he caught sight of Matthew and, well, there went that. He stuttered to a halt in the middle of the hallway.

“What,” he snapped. McDavid pulled up short, too, giving Matthew a look that was at once wary and disapproving, like Matthew was a bug on one of his nice suits.

Matthew shrugged. “You asked.”

“Leon, what’s going on?” McDavid asked.

Matthew raised an eyebrow at Draisaitl, like, _you wanna tell him or should I? _And Draisaitl narrowed his eyes back, _don’t you dare. _That was how Draisaitl looked at him most of the time anyway. “It’s fine,” Draisaitl said, still looking at Matthew. “I’ll catch you at the hotel.”

McDavid accepted this with a wary nod and continued down the hall. When he was far away not to hear Draisaitl closed in on Matthew. “You better not be fucking with me.”

“I’m not,” Matthew said. “Just because _I _don’t fucking jump people with my hate-boner in club bathrooms, _Leon._” For a moment Draisaitl looked uncomfortable. It lasted until Matthew added, “And even I’m not mean enough to blue-ball a guy twice.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. Matthew wanted to bite it. “Fine,” he said, like it was such a fucking hardship to get his dick sucked, but Matthew figured he could blame the guy for having a few trust issues.

“Okay,” Matthew said, and shoulder-checked Draisaitl as he pushed off the wall and down into the Saddledome.

A couple turns away from the visitors’ locker room and the ceilings started getting lower, the noise faded away. Matthew pulled Draisaitl into a tiny excuse for a break room and hit the lock behind them. Didn’t bother with the lights. He could feel Draisaitl’s body heat in front of him, hear his breathing, but Draisaitl didn’t make a move.

“Okay,” Matthew said again.

Draisaitl pulled in a harsh breath. “If this is a fucking—prank, or something—”

“It’s not,” and Matthew muscled Draisaitl against the concrete wall. He found Draisaitl’s hips with his hands and dropped to his knees. The linoleum was cold, even though his suit. “It’s not.”

One of Draisaitl’s hands cupped the back of his head, almost tentative. Otherwise he didn’t move.

Well, Matthew didn’t mind doing the work here. “Didn’t take you for a pillow princess,” he said anyway as he undid Draisaitl’s suit trousers.

“This was your idea,” Draisaitl snapped back. Matthew tugged Draisaitl’s pants down and pressed his mouth to the front of his underwear, traced the outline of Draisaitl’s cock. He was still soft, of course, they hadn’t even made out this time—but Draisaitl made a short sound, like he was muffling himself, and his dick twitched. “I never even said last time—”

_Do you think I’m stupid? _Matthew almost asked, but he knew what answer that would get him. He tugged at the elastic of Draisaitl’s underwear instead, pulled down it with his pants to mid-thigh. He cupped Draisaitl’s dick in his hand, just to get a feel for what he was working with—it wasn’t too big, pulsing but not even half-hard. Easy to lean forward and take the whole thing in his mouth, press forward until his nose was brushing Draisaitl’s coarse curls.

Draisaitl groaned above him and quickly bit the sound off.

Matthew bobbed his head, pressing his tongue flat along the length so he could feel it twitching and growing. He liked this part, always had, starting from nothing and feeling the effect he was having—liked it more from Draisaitl, who was so obviously trying not to sound affected. Soon Draisaitl was hard enough that Matthew couldn’t take him all the way down anymore, and Matthew pulled off to lick down the side, mouth at Draisaitl’s balls. Draisaitl’s thighs trembled against his shoulders, his hands, and he didn’t know if it was from the game or the blowjob or both. He wanted it to be both. Wanted to wear him out anyway he could.

When Matthew went to work on the head again, Draisaitl’s fingers curled in his hair, and he held Matthew still while he pushed his hips forward. Matthew choked and thought _bastard _and then _fuck, finally. _

“There you go,” Draisaitl said, low and dark and the most together he’d sounded all night, and Matthew cupped the front of his pants, desperate suddenly for pressure on his dick. Matthew’s eyes watered but he kept his mouth loose for Draisaitl to fuck into, and Draisaitl didn’t choke him again. Just kept pounding steady, even strokes.

Matthew curled one hand between Draisaitl’s legs, traced up his crack until he found Draisaitl’s rim. Circled his finger around it.

“Fuck,” Draisaitl said, and then “_fuck,_” again when Matthew pushed his fingertip into him, hips stuttering. Matthew’s hand was slick with his own spit but not that much, not enough to be comfortable—

When he bit Draisaitl’s lip, last time, he’d sworn that same way. His voice had cracked then too.

Maybe Draisaitl didn’t always like things to be _comfortable. _Matthew pushed another fingertip in, too soon, and worked them back and forth.

Draisaitl swore again, something German this time. He pushed Matthew down on his dick one last time and then pulled him back so the head was barely between Matthew’s lips, and then his free hand grabbed Matthew’s jaw. “Swallow.”

Again: who the fuck did he think he was talking to? Matthew scissored his fingers viciously, and Draisaitl groaned and came in hard pulses. When he was done Matthew pulled his fingers out of Draisaitl’s ass, a little too fast, and got a halfhearted swat at his temple for his efforts. Matthew ignored that and let Draisaitl’s softening cock drop out of his mouth.

There was light coming in from under the door, and when Matthew leaned back he could just make out Draisaitl: head tipped against the wall, chest heaving. Matthew wondered if his eyes were closed, wondered what exactly he’d looked like as he came.

Matthew wiped his eyes and then his lips with the back of his hand. Probably he looked like hell, now, even more than could be explained by the aftermath of the game. “Told you. Not a prank.”

“Shut up,” Draisaitl said. There was no real heat to it, more a reflex. He took another beat to stare up at the ceiling or whatever and then tugged up his pants. Matthew rolled to his feet and dusted off his knees—at least he’d worn a light gray suit tonight; any stains would be harder to make out on that than on black. Then Draisaitl said, apropos of nothing: “Next time we play each other is in Edmonton.”

“Yeah?” Matthew said. He’d have to take Draisaitl’s word for it; it was a few weeks away at least, and he could never keep track.

“Come to my house after. I owe you one,” Draisaitl said, flat. He pulled out his phone. “Give me your number.”

Matthew blinked and rattled it off. He’d figured Draisaitl was just in this to get rid of his hate-boner; once Matthew got on his knees he’d have it out of his system. Apparently that wasn’t going to be the case.

Not like he was complaining.

Draisaitl left the room first, but Matthew stayed so they wouldn’t be coming out together, flipped on the break room light so he could wash his hands and splash water on his face. It was a short walk to the parking lot but he didn’t want anyone seeing him like this, eyes red and mouth puffy.

The team didn’t go out that night even though the win deserved it—they had an early plane ride and a late game the next day—so Matthew went straight home. Draisaitl texted him on the way, _its leon, _so banal it was almost insulting.

Matthew jerked off before he went to sleep, thinking of the way Draisaitl’s thighs had trembled under his hands, and took a picture of the mess over his abs afterward. _Looking forward to payback._

Draisaitl read it right away. Three little dots came up, stayed up for a while. He never did reply.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are very much appreciated. 
> 
> i may continue this or i may not--i don't mean that in a comment-baity way, just that i wrote it very quickly after watching a couple Battle of Alberta games and i don't know if i'll stay invested since this is not my circus and these are not my monkeys. i think it works ok as a standalone anyway.


End file.
